


Mi fai vivere

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Euro 2012, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy loses the 2012 EURO final. Monto is miserable. Pirlo comforts him in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mi fai vivere

**Author's Note:**

> An old work (actually one of my oldest).

The curtains in Riccardo’s hotel room are drawn, blocking the lights of Kiev out. The lamp in the corner is still switched on. He can’t bring himself to get up and switch it off.

He isn’t really sleepy. It’s the strange drowsiness when the body is too exhausted to cry any more, but the mind is still restless. The first goal. The second one. Thiago being carried away from the pitch. The other two goals. The final whistle. The celebrations around him, more like smudges in the corners of his eyes. Everything is almost materializing and spinning around him again.

His eyes start to burn again. He wonders if in the morning it will already feel better. If so, he wants the morning to come fast.

He can hear Andrea’s footsteps. He knows them well enough, he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know it’s him.

Riccardo sighs softly when he feels Andrea’s hair touch his face as he leans in to kiss him. It smells of the hotel shampoo. Same as his.

“I’m almost asleep,” he mumbles.

“It doesn’t matter. I can make love to you until you fall asleep,” Andrea whispers.

“I don’t think that could possibly work.”

“We can try.”

Andrea begins to run his hands over Riccardo’s chest, teasing his nipples, sending shock waves of pleasure through his veins. The sleepiness disappears almost immediately. But it sort of makes things easier. The images in his head are not so vivid now. They are blurred, the noises tuned down.

He can feel Andrea’s gaze on him, almost as tangible as his touch.

 “Open your eyes,” Andrea whispers.

“Why?”

“I want to see them.”

Riccardo shakes his head slightly.

“No.”

It’s almost like an old game. Or tradition. Riccardo always keeps his eyes closed when they make love. He doesn’t even know why. It makes him feel safer. Less vulnerable. His grandmother used to say that the eyes were the windows to the soul. And he treasures his soul too much to let anyone see into it. Mainly in moments like that.

He reaches for Andrea, almost like he wanted to prove that he doesn’t need to see him because he can feel him, and that’s what is the most important here. Andrea uses this moment to reach down and slide one hand up Riccardo’s leg. When the tips of his fingers brush his member he gasps and his fingers leave Andrea’s skin as he falls back.

 

He can feel that tide of heat surging in his veins, threatening to overwhelm him. He squeezes his eyelids even tighter. It feels as though he was frozen in place, his whole body pivoting on that one delicious point of contact. He fights to control his breath as Andrea’s fingers continue to stroke him teasingly.

Then they stop.

Riccardo normally likes this game. But now he’s too tired to play, to fight back. He surrenders immediately.

“Please.”

“You know what I want.”

Andrea’s hand is close, so close that he can feel its warmth on his skin.

“Please,” he repeats. “I need it.”

“Look at me and say it.”

There’s a moment of complete silence. None of them moves, it even seems like they’re both holding their breath. Then Riccardo unglues his eyelids and locks his eyes with Andrea’s.

“Please.”

Andrea is so transfixed for a moment that he almost forgets to bring his fingers back. He could stare into those eyes forever. He has to mentally shake himself. He moves his hand again. Riccardo throws back his head as the pulsating haze fills his vision.

He grasps Andrea desperately as he comes, letting out a choked cry of pleasure, burying his face in Andrea’s neck. He stays in his arms as they lay on the bed together.

“I thought you would never do it,” Andrea says quietly.

“Open my eyes?”

“Trust me enough to open them.”

Riccardo looks up.

“I do trust you. Sometimes I don’t trust myself. But I do trust you.”

“So if I say that tomorrow it will get better, will you trust me?”

“I will hope that you’re right.”

Andrea looks down at Riccardo and locks his fingers in his hair.

“Finally.”

“Finally what?”

“You’re smiling.”

Riccardo wraps his arms around Andrea and finally drifts to sleep. Tomorrow will be better. Now he’s sure about it.


End file.
